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"Oh, yes," Clive said. "There is that." He laughed self-deprecatingly. "I had forgotten about that, Miss Groves. Thank you very much for reminding me." He turned to the reporters, who were now all frothing at the bit to speak directly to the camera and exclaim the virtues of RATS. "This, ladies and gentlemen, is what we've been dealing with while we hunted down Mr Ivanov and prevented his most recent attempts at destroying RATS and tearing Time apart once and for all.
"What you see here is Parliament's attempt to take over RATS at the detriment of caring for Time itself. I do not deny that we could indeed make a penny or two should we have the additional resources to do so. But our first order, our most sacred order, is always and should always be that of protecting Time itself.
"There will be other Sergei Ivanovs. There always are. But if we are not allowed to do our job, if we are denied the resources to carry on with our tasks, if we are distracted by the Parliamentary directed necessity to make money and not spend it, then, simply put, Time will fracture."
The images on the vidscreen continued. This had been well choreographed. Sally and Clive had worked closely on it, I was sure. No doubt Dean, Rafe and Bryan had helped. But this was the Chief Surgeon's and Novitiate Groves' moment. They'd set the scene, they'd provided a backstory, they'd put a spotlight on the dangers a time traveller faced, the responsibilities placed on us at RATS. They'd done it beautifully.
And then they'd torn it all down at the expense of Sergei and Parliament in a way I didn't think either could correct.
It was damning evidence and a performance worthy of a stage actor, and yet, every word out of Clive Crawford's lips was the truth.
The reporters gobbled it up. The Prime Minister reddened further and further until he was an unhealthy beetroot colour. I heard cars screeching into the forecourt, then. The tinkling of our stone chip driveway getting torn up by many wheels. The PM became a little panicked. The reporters scented blood in the water.
It was clear to them all now that Parliament had been meddling in RATS without care. That they had ignored the basic tenets of time travel. That they had ignored Clive Crawford at their peril.
Atallof our peril.
The presentation went on, recorded in full by the reporters present. An overview of the many recommendations Clive had made to the Prime Minister, with backing from His Majesty, was covered. And the PM's dismissal of each and every one of them. The consequences of ignoring Time were detailed meticulously and in a vivid and horrid fashion. It was shocking, but then, the country had needed the shock.
The Royal Academy had always been circumspect in what we released to the public. We'd done our jobs quietly, without fuss and without recognition. It was just not the English way to make a fuss. This had to have been hard for Clive, but then, he'd been backed into a corner. Removed from RATS. And although he hadn't touched on prophetic dreams in this presentation, a side effect of time travel that tended to be personal to each time traveller, he had known that his presence at RATS was essential for RATS to continue and Time to remain intact.
It was all a stunning revelation that would carry far-reaching consequences. The reporters were now all clamouring for their questions to be answered as the presentation wound down to its end. Clive answered each one as clearly and concisely as he could. He even answered them honestly.
The writing was on the wall, though. As a torrent of police officers stormed the building, arresting Sergei Ivanov, detaining the Prime Minister, locating and securing Anderson and his men, Clive was making his final speech at RATS.
And, oh, what a speech my old friend was making.
All his dreams had been realised now, I thought. This right here was probably the last. Clive saving RATS, and therefore saving Time itself. Time can't exist without us, and we can't save Time unless we exist as we are.
In the mayhem that Clive's revelations created, the aftermath that led to his own detainment for questioning, the Wyldes and Charles Crawford were overlooked. I was thankful for Mimi's peace of mind. For a few more precious moments for Mimi to have her family with her, unaccosted by policemen and handcuffs. But I knew this was bigger than her, bigger than them.
There would be a snap election held. The House of Lords would have to get involved finally. The public would demand someone pay for the near catastrophe that had occurred. The Prime Minister would be an appropriate sacrifice and one I didn't think His Majesty would argue against. But they would demand more. Sergei's head was on the chopping block, but we didn't have the death penalty in Britain, so his incarceration would be called for. Sending him back to his own time now would be cruel and unusual punishment, and that was why, I realised, that Clive had gone to such efforts to detail his origins. The public would want Sergei to pay, but not like that.
He'd be trapped in our time. And Mimi was the mirror to Sergei that Time demanded. Clive would see to it that the powers that be knew that, now. That keeping Ivanov here in the 23rd century meant keeping Mimi here as well. I could see it all unfold as if I were having a waking prophetic dream. Mimi would get a stay of execution, so to speak.
But her family would not.
I turned to look at her then, as RATS let up a shout in denial of Clive's detainment. As Sergei was dragged away to face his long imprisonment. As the PM was unceremoniously removed from the press conference. Mimi blinked overlarge eyes at me, a stunned look on her face.
Did she not see how this would end? Did she not realise the outcome for her family yet?
Maybethiswas Clive's final prophetic dream coming to life.
Carrie approached, then. The ongoing cacophony of disbelief and argument sounded out all around us. We all ignored it, though ignoring it was not easy; RATS was getting loud. Mimi offered the most beautiful smile to her alternate sister when she saw her approach. That look stole my breath and broke my heart in two. I ached for her impending loss.
"Hey, Mousey," Carolyn Wylde said.
"Hey, squirt," Mimi replied.
"Not so much the squirt now, am I?" Carrie looked directly at me, then. "You need to calm them down, Doctor. They need to let this all play out."
"It's Clive," I said, ridiculously.
"He knew what he was getting into," she replied. "And besides, he's tired. He's ready to retire."
"What are you talking about?" Mimi asked, looking between us as her parents cautiously approached off to the side.
"I've got this, Evans," Carrie told me, ignoring Mimi. "Let the Wyldes say our farewells and explain the meaning of life to Mimi."
